


On the Edge of a Knife

by rocketxsurgeon



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, Background rycol, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, but no other ships, no wives no kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketxsurgeon/pseuds/rocketxsurgeon
Summary: Set mid season 1 of Whose Line US.Brad knows he's the luckiest man in the world. Whose Line is the best thing that's ever happened to him, even as a fourth seater. It's a dream come true...now all he has to do is not fuck up.Unfortunately, nature is a bitch.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts since January, and I finally decided to get off my ass and post it. I'm not wild about the title but, eh. I haven't written anything in probably about five years, and I've never written WLIIA fanfiction before, despite being a fan for most of my life. So...I feel a little rusty. But I had fun writing it. After all, I love Rycol to death, but why should they always get all the h/c...uh...fun? And Brad has been my fav ever since I had a dream I was married to him.
> 
> This takes place sometime in Season 1 of Whose Line US, but not during any specific episode or taping.

Raleigh Studios, on a Whose Line taping day, was a mess of finely controlled chaos. Everywhere, techs were running around, preparing props, filling water pitchers, checking camera angles, and all the myriad activities that came with taping a TV show. From somewhere in the back, Dan's voice rose over the din, shouting instructions and orders, and the occasional reprimand (most commonly directed toward Ryan, but Drew got in his fair share as well).

Brad loved it.

It was, of course, still slightly surreal to him, and he supposed it always would be. The fact that he was getting paid, in real, decent money, to go out and goof around with people he'd known for a long time, still didn't seem real. He wasn't a regular, of course - that honour was reserved for the boss, and whoever else he chose - but he knew he was in a good place even as a fourth seater.

_And it could all come to an end tomorrow_ , he reminded himself, studying himself in the dressing room mirror. Whose Line wasn't a stereotypical primetime show, despite airing opposite Friends. The producers casted for talent, rather than good looks alone. (Still though, Brad had heard rumours that Colin had almost been cut due to his looks, and if that was true, perhaps the producers were more shallow than he thought).

All it would take would be for someone better to come along. How many other performers had fallen by the wayside? Someone younger, more talented, more...Hollywood...and he'd be out of a job. He had a slight advantage, being a singing specialist, but honestly, with Wayne as a permanent cast member, another singer wasn't strictly necessary.

Hell, he hadn't even been chosen to audition for this series at first.

_Not good enough to audition, but good enough to help run the auditions..._

He shook his head to dispel those dark thoughts, and winced as that sent a glance of pain between his temples. He'd woken up that morning with a pounding headache and a queasy stomach, and it had only gotten worse thought the day. Whose Line wasn't his only job, of course - he knew better than to put all his eggs in one basket, he wasn't that naive - and the day had been particularly gruelling, with several jobs lined up back to back and barely any time in between, even to eat something. Not like he'd felt like eating, but still. And to top it off, he was fairly certain that by now, he was running a slight fever.

And now that he was finally at the Whose Line taping, that he'd been looking forward to all day, there was a chance his performance would be jeopardized by feeling like crap. 

_At least I haven't lost my voice...yet,_ he thought sourly, and then resisted the urge to knock on the wooden table, just in case. _I can't afford to let this affect me. I can push through for a few more hours, and then collapse into bed. Because if I don't...._

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and did not finish that thought. Once again, he studied himself in the mirror, trying to discern if it was too noticeable that he wasn't feeling well. The makeup department had done a good job of covering up how pale his face was, but there was still a faint flush on his cheeks that showed through. His skin felt hot and cakey under the thick layer of pancake makeup, and he longed to scratch it all off, just to be able to breathe again. But he knew it was for the best; any lighter and it wouldn't cover up anything.

The rest of his outfit was the usual rags that wardrobe forced him into. Brad considered himself lucky in the respect that none of his shirts were as hideous as Colin's, but they weren't exactly what he would choose to wear. Then again, he had a sneaking suspicion that the loose-fitting bowling shirts were a deliberate ploy to mask the fact that he was one of the chubbier cast members. Normally, his weight didn't bother him a bit. But next to Wayne, Colin, and especially Ryan, who was only 2 inches taller, but many pounds lighter, it seemed to make every extra curve and bulge that much more noticeable.

He smoothed down the front of the shirt, and sucked in his stomach -- only to double over as a sharp pain lanced through his belly. Breathing hard, he wrapped his arms around his middle and tried to get himself under control, to quell the shaking and the rising nausea before anyone saw him and questioned his ability to go on.

As if reading his mind, the door creaked open. Brad straightened up, biting back a groan of pain, and forced himself to act natural as Wayne entered.

"Hey man, " Wayne greeted him. "You ready for the taping? I should warn you, Ryan's been pissing off Dan all afternoon. You might want to play it safe today, go easy on the swears, you know..."

Ordinarily, Brad would scoff and grumble something about freedom of expression and the sin of censorship in the bluest of language, but today he just didn't have the energy. Besides, Wayne's casual warning sent a stab of anxiety into his chest, warring with the pain in his stomach for the title of most unpleasant sensation.

_Of all the nights...it has to be tonight that I feel like hell, when the director is already in a bad mood...when I’m the one who has the most at stake..._

He was so caught up in his jumbled, semi-hysterical thoughts, that he didn't notice Wayne frowning at him. 

"Hey...you okay? You're not usually so...quiet"

_Oh fuck, its starting already._

Moving stiffly but with forced nonchalance, Brad lowered himself into the couch and leaned into the soft cushions, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just tired. It's been a long day."

Wayne shook his head. "I don't know how you guys do it, going from job to job all day. Filming one show is hard enough!" 

"Yeah, well...that's just the way it is, " Brad mumbled. 

_Of course you wouldn’t know, you have a steady job, you don’t have to beg and scrape for everything, you don't have to worry about every show being your last..._

He knew he wasn't being fair. Wayne was extraordinarily talented and had worked hard for all he had. It wasn't his fault that he'd been chosen for a permanent spot...and he was just so damn likeable that Brad couldn't even get up a good head of steam in resenting him.

Suddenly he was aware of a cool hand resting on his forehead and he opened his eyes to Wayne standing over him, worry evident in his dark eyes. Brad hoped fervently that the younger man hadn’t managed to suddenly develop telepathic powers. Bitter shame washed over him.

"Dude, you're really hot."

He paused, and Brad knew he was waiting for some kind of smartass comment - ' _why Wayne, I never knew you felt that way about me_ ' - but he couldn't seem to put the words in the right order, and it took too much energy to try. It didn't matter; his silence spoke volumes.

"I think I might be coming down with something," he croaked at last, and controlled his breathing as his side gave another angry throb.

"I think you already have," Wayne deadpanned. "Have you taken anything?"

"I don't do drugs."

"No, you dope! I mean like, Tylenol. You should take something to try to get your fever down."

"Oh," Brad murmured, glad that Wayne had interpreted his confusion as a joke. "Uh...no. I've been too busy."

Wayne shook his head, then began searching through the cupboards and drawers on the other side of the room. "There's gotta be some Tylenol around here somewhere...."

"As long as its not the horse tranquilizers Ryan takes for his back," Brad smirked, and Wayne giggled.

"Oh man, remember when Chip took one of those by accident? He was out for like, three days!"

Brad snickered, and bit back a groan as the simple act of laughing triggered another wave of pain. For the first time, he realized that he might be in trouble. How could he go on if even laughing hurt? 

He accepted the pills and glass of water that Wayne handed him, and checked that it was indeed not the extra extra extra strength Tylenol that Ryan took for his back. He leaned forward to put the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him, and became aware of Wayne watching him with a pensive expression, one that he couldn't quite read.

"You should tell Dan that you're sick," he said softly.

Brad stared at him like he had two heads. "Are you kidding me? No freaking way!"

"All right, all right...I see your point. Then tell Ryan or Drew."

"What are they going to do? Taping starts in 45 minutes, they will never be able to get a sub in that fast. And its not like we can just reschedule."

And the thought of being replaced, even just for one taping, made his stomach lurch in a way that had nothing to do with any illness.

Wayne sighed, unable to argue with the logic.

"I'll be okay. Just...please don't say anything to Ryan or Drew. Or Colin," he added. Everyone knew that Colin told Ryan everything. Normally Brad found it somewhat endearing, but there was an undeniable air of Colin as the teacher's pet, tattling on everyone. 

The painkillers were starting to kick in, and he felt his body growing heavy, sinking into the plush sofa. It felt so good, so different from the threadbare offerings of other studios, or even his own meagre apartment. He flopped over, slumping against the cushions, and sighed in contentment. He wondered if maybe those had been Ryan's pills after all. Well, if so, then he could understood why Ryan took them - they were heavenly.

"I'll be okay," he mumbled. "Lemme just...lemme just rest for a minute. I'll be fine. You'll see..."

Distantly, he wondered if this might not be such a good look, to be found asleep in the green room 45 minutes before having to go on. But then, how many times had he seen Ryan napping on this same couch during the narrow window between filming his two shows?

_Yeah but Ryan's the boss, its different…_ came that worrying little voice on the edge of his consciousness.

But it really didn't matter; before he could even finish that thought, he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild description of vomiting in this chapter

Brad woke to the sound of voices.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be quiet for this long before.” Ryan.

“Yeah,  he’s almost cute like that.” Colin. 

“Almost makes you forget he’s the filthiest one of all of us.” Drew. “I thought he was gonna give the censor a heart attack last time he was here.”

Memories from his last time taping rose to his mind, and he suppressed a smirk. That had been quite the night...and he was stunned that any of it had even made it to air, let alone that he’d been asked back.

"He is...alive, right?" Ryan again, as if it was completely possible that a cast member  would wander into the greenroom and just die. "I mean, some one has talked to him today?"

"Yeah, I have," Wayne piped up. 

"Is he okay?"

There was a heavy pause.

_ C'mon Wayne, don't rat me out, be a pal… _

"Yeah he's just tired," Wayne said, his voice sounding strained. "Busy day."

_Thanks, man_ , he thought, not without a pang of guilt. He knew how much Wayne hated lying, especially to the higher ups.

_ Well that's my cue, then… _

As tempting as it was to stay snuggled into the plush couch forever, it was time to get up. With an exaggerated stretch and yawn, he sat up, feigning nonchalance. 

"Hey guys...whats up?"

"Hopefully you, now," Drew cracked, before realizing what he'd said. This time Brad didn't even have to try to come up with a joke, as Drew reddened. "I mean...aw crap. That's not what I meant...oh, just here, take this."

He held out a sheet of paper - the running list of games for the evening. Brad took it and looked it over. Nothing surprising - Let’s Make a Date, Narrate, Moving People, Party Quirks...a number of singing games, naturally, but towards the end of the night. Truth be told he'd rather get them over with early on, before he lost his voice, but it wasn't his decision to make, and he wasn't going to tip his hand.

Too late, he realized that the others were staring at him, waiting for him to get up. Resolutely ignoring Wayne, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning casually against the arm of the couch as the room dipped and spun. He knew the others were talking but couldn't seem to make sense of the words.

_ Focus. Focus! _

He pasted a smile on his face and ignored the rushing in his ears. Fortunately, the others hadn’t seemed to notice his lack of attention. Drew was talking to Ryan, some kind of last-minute production minutiae, and had all but turned their back on him, not that he minded. Ordinarily, maybe. But not tonight. 

The green room door burst open and Dan Patterson stuck his head in. “Let’s go!” he said, sounding harried as always. “On stage! Hurry!” And before any of them could respond, he was gone. 

Ryan mimed shooting a blowgun at their departing director, then shrugged.

“Well that’s our cue,” Drew said, starting to herd the others out the door. 

Brad took a step forward, and immediately regretted it as his stomach lurched. His legs felt shaky and once again he felt like he was listening to things underwater. He swallowed heavily, and realized that he needed to get away - now. 

Drew and the others were almost out the door. He took a deep breath, forcing his body to obey, and said, “Crap, I forgot something in the dressing room. I’ll catch up!”

Drew said something, and he presumed it was something along the lines of telling him to hurry the hell up, what could he have forgotten in the dressing room that was so damn important? But let him complain; it wouldn’t change anything. 

He hurried down the hall away from the stage and towards the dressing room, keeping his head down so that no one would interrupt him. If they did, well...they wouldn’t like the consequences. 

The dressing room was empty and quiet. Brad hadn't considered what he would do if it wasn't, but truth be told he barely noticed. He barely had time to get into the tiny restroom hidden in the corner before nature took over and he brought up what little he'd eaten that day. Before long, it turned to wracking dry heaves that tore at his gut, until finally he was able to get himself under control. Trembling, he flushed the toilet and went to clean up in the sink.

Oh, there was no way he was going to get away with this. His face was a sickly ashen colour, with dark circles under his eyes, and sweat beading on his temples and upper lip. He couldn't stop shaking, and even his hair seemed to wilt. 

And yet oddly enough, he felt better. The nausea had abated and in its place was a feeling of lightness, and no small amount of relief. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face as best he could, and by the time he dared to leave the dressing room, he almost looked normal.

_ Maybe that's it _ , he thought to himself, hurrying on stage just behind Wayne, in the nick of time. Dan shot him a look but he pretended not to notice.

_ That must have been it _ , he assured himself, taking his seat.  _ The worst is over. I'm going to be fine _ .

  
  



End file.
